


Hear That Thunder Roll

by Tinwoman



Series: Blackout Approaching [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Game, Railroad Quest Spoilers, Smut, Spoilers, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:31:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinwoman/pseuds/Tinwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>End-Game exploration of Deacon, MacCready and F!SS Jules, aka Fixer, as they try and figure out their post-Blowing Up The Institute lives. </p><p>In this <em>specific</em> instance, that means spending the night in the middle of a storm and falling into bed together. You know, the way most people navigate the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This baby is a sort-of-but-not-really sequel to [still my heart beats so slow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6105931/chapters/13995340), but it should stand up on on its own.
> 
> I also have a tumblr that I barely know how to use, because I am old! But come hang out, chat with me and/or watch me stumble around at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tinwomanrunaway

It’s been three months since the Institute fell. Since Deacon watched Fixer blow one of the most powerful organizations in the world to smithereens, since they buried Glory and honored Patriot, and things have been...quiet, since then. Pleasingly, bafflingly, _uncomfortably_ quiet.

He still runs missions for the Railroad, but without the boogeyman of the Commonwealth, things feel slow to him for the first time, well, ever. Nothing in his day-to-day life has changed that much, especially now that the L&L Gang is rumbling with them, but he no longer feels the whisper of the executioner’s axe against his neck whenever he goes above ground anymore. It’s just _different._

Which might explain why he’s taking more time these days to just see people, to visit and take the time off that Des is always badgering him to take, quoting something about ‘burnout’. _Whatever._ But he has to admit, it was nice to see Nick last month when he went down to Diamond City, hearing about how things are going at the agency and offering the occasional, helpful observation on a case. Watching the lights dim and thinking about how far each of them had come, about what the future really meant for them.

So he relented and agreed to take a trip up to Nordhagen Beach, where Fixer and MacCready were staying for the next few weeks, arming and training the settlers and helping secure the area for the Minutemen. He touched base with some tourists on the way, gave a new agent her instructions, and as he hikes across the reedy, sandy path up to the small collections of houses, he thinks this is what the prewar folks would call a ‘vacation’.

He sees a familiar silhouette against the sunset, leaning up against a fenced enclosure of what looks like a community garden. Dusty cap slightly askew, rifle propped up against the wooden slats of the fence, and yeah maybe he’s just a sucker, but seeing MacCready again after so long feels better that it should.

“Deacon! Hey, Jules said you’d be coming,” MacCready calls out, waving him over with a smile, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“You know me, MacCready. I’m like a bad penny -- I always turn up eventually,” he says, pulling his pack up a bit higher on his shoulder and grinning back at him.

MacCready gives a short huff of a laugh and stretches his arms up above his head, looking sunburned and freckled, and Deacon can see dirt smudges on his hands and forearms. _Fixer must have him playing farmer._ Though it occurs to him, he doesn’t actually know that much about Mac before he joined up with the Gunners. Maybe farmer isn’t so far off from what he wanted.

“So Jules is out on patrol right now with some of the locals, but she should be back any minute now -- you hungry? We were gonna do dinner from the garden, if you want.”

“Sounds perfectly nice, and perfectly domestic,” he teases. _It really is good to see him again._

“Yep, that’s me now,” MacCready says easily, squinting a little and grabbing his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. “Giving up this life of violence to settle down with...the most violent woman I’ve ever met.”

“Fair point,” Deacon acknowledges with a grin, walking with MacCready up the packed earth pathway to the house he assumed MacCready shares with Fixer. Pointing Deacon to a rickety bench outside, MacCready grabs the pack from him and pops into the house for a minute, then returns with a beer in each hand. Offering one to Deacon, he plops himself down heavily on the bench and looks out at the beachy landscape.

“So, how long are you staying, Deeks?” MacCready asks through a mouthful of beer.

“A few days, maybe a bit longer,” Deacon shrugs, giving MacCready the edited version. He’s sure MacCready knows he’s not telling him the full story, but MacCready doesn’t press him for details. He never does, actually. It’s part of why he never really minded that him and Fixer got together, Deacon thinks. MacCready genuinely doesn’t _care_ what Deacon or the Railroad is up to, as long as it doesn’t put Fixer in undue danger or threaten the life he wants to build for Duncan.

“So how are things here? How’s she doing?” Deacon asks casually after a few moments, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a cursory sip. He knows MacCready can hear the rest of the unasked question.

“Jules is good. I mean, she’s good most of the time,” MacCready says, hesitating a bit. Deacon stays quiet, waiting for MacCready to continue. Rushing him never works, but Deacon can sometimes get it out of him if he stays still and lets MacCready work through it on his own.

“She still has her bad days,” MacCready says finally, rolling the beer bottle between his palms and not meeting Deacon’s eyes. “Sometimes she just...leaves. Heads out on a solo trek to god knows where for days, _weeks_ at a time. I tried to go with her once, promised that she wouldn’t even know I was there, just to make sure she didn’t get mauled by a Yao Guai or something, but…” MacCready trails off, mouth twisting into a slight grimace, and Deacon can fill in the blanks. He’s betting her icy refusal to acknowledge him wore out even MacCready’s patience.

“It might never be over for her,” Deacon says quietly, watching MacCready closely. “Not really. I mean, I’m not expert on the psychology of people who lived through an apocalypse and then blew up the new world all over again, but...I think she’s just doing the best she can, the best way she knows how.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” MacCready stretches one leg out and rests his beer bottle on his other knee, watching the sunset through the gathering clouds. The bench they’re sitting on creaks as he shifts his weight, and Deacon can feel the uneven texture of the wood beneath his thighs.

“You know, I always feel better when you’re here, man,” he says, shaking his head and glancing up at him and smiling just a little. “You make me feel less...I dunno, crazy? I love Jules so much, but there’s this place inside her that I just can’t reach. It’s nice to know someone else sees it too, that it’s not just me being too...stupid, I guess, to figure her out or give her what she needs.”

Deacon blinks, surprised and more than a little touched, and he exhales slowly around the sudden tightness in his throat. _Shit, Mac._ Before he can overthink it, Deacon reaches over to MacCready and wraps one arm around MacCready’s shoulders, dragging him in for a one-armed hug and grinning at MacCready’s little yelp of surprise.

“Hey! Watch it!” MacCready flails, his beer bottle skittering to the ground as Deacon pulls him tight against him.

“Awww, I love you too, Bobby,” he croons in MacCready’s ear, pressing a quick, barely-there kiss to his temple before releasing him. MacCready twists himself around to stare open-mouthed at Deacon for a few beats, shocked and flushed, before dissolving into disbelieving laughter.

“Okay, let’s not get carried away here,” MacCready says, clearly trying to navigate the moment back to firmer, more familiar ground, rolling his eyes and fighting to wipe the smile off his face. “All I actually said was that I didn’t _actively_ dislike your company.”

“Nope, you looooove me. No take-backsies. Deadly mercenary dude loves me,” Deacon sing-songs, reaching over to poke MacCready in the ribs. MacCready’s ready for him this time, though, scooting backwards on the bench and throwing up a hand to block him.

“So, this is what happens when I go away for a few hours, huh?” Fixer’s warm, amused calls out as she trudges into view, carrying a bulging bag of vegetables easily over her shoulder then tossing it to the ground next to them.

“He started it,” Deacon says quickly, pointing at MacCready, ignoring his indignant squawk.

“Uh-huh, sure. Deacon, stop pestering Mac and get over here -- you two can get dinner started,” she says, gesturing toward the vegetables. “Mac, sweetheart, we all know you totally love Deacon, so there’s no point in pretending”.

MacCready opens his mouth to protest again, but Fixer leans down to give him a quick kiss, stifling whatever he was about to retort with. _That’s a handy way to shut Mac up._

“Now, can you two play nice while I get cleaned up? I am dying for a nice meal and a quiet evening,” she says, peeling off her jacket and tying the sleeves around her waist. She did look tired, but Deacon’s positive he’s seeing excitement and happiness in the loose movements of her body, the crinkle in the corners of her eyes.

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” Deacon says crisply, springing to attention and giving a mock salute, and when she laughs and rolls her eyes, he snags her into a quick, hard hug. _Missed you, Fix._ Feels her arms tightening around him too, and her smile pressed against his neck is warm and familiar and so sweet it almost hurts.

The clouds above are getting heavier and darker, and Deacon thinks he can detect the faint scent of incoming rain in the air. Fixer breaks off and looks up at the sky, clearly on the same page as him.

“Okay, let’s get the food made and head inside, yeah?” She says, not waiting for a response before trotting into the house, already hopping a little as she unties her boot laces.

“Notice how Jules left us with all the dirty work, huh?” Mac says, trying to school his expression into something grumpy, but Deacon can see the affection in his eyes clear as day. _He likes having tasks to do for her,_ Deacon thinks with a private smile.

“Benefits of being the boss, I guess” Deacon shrugs good-naturedly as he hoists the bag of vegetables up in his arms and follows MacCready to the cookfire out back.

“Yep, that’s our girl, alright. Leader of the Minutemen, spy extraordinaire, and master of ‘getting other people to do crap for her’,” MacCready says grouchily, shucking the corn with practiced ease while Deacon gets the fire started.

“ _Our_ girl?” Deacon says, raising an eyebrow at that.

MacCready gestures expansively with the corn cob. “You know what I mean! You’re her partner, and I’m her…”

“Boyyyyfriend?” Deacon suggests, dragging the first syllable out with a drawl. “Numero Uno? Main squeeze?”

“Let’s stick with Guy Who Loves Her In Spite Of Her Terrifying Efficiency, And Also Gets To Touch Her Tits On The Regular,” MacCready says, with a tiny, conspiratorial wink at Deacon.

 _Wow, now that’s a mental image for later tonight._ Deacon feels a traitorous pulse of interest from below his belt at the thought of MacCready sliding his hands under Fixer’s shirt, his hands brushing against the curve of her waist, drifting higher, rolling her nipples in his calloused fingers and making her gasp… _Jesus, do NOT go there right now._

“Way too long,” Deacon says decisively, hoping to cover his momentary sidetrip into the land of Why Yes, I _Was_ Just Thinking About You Groping My Best Friend MacCready, Thank You For Asking. “You need to embrace the concept of codenames, buddy - there’s a reason they’re one or two words max. And anyway, if your title is that long, I think I need one just as fancy.”

MacCready chuckles and tosses his handful of cornsilk at him. “Oh yeah? I can think of a few things to call you,” he says, with a wicked glint in those blue eyes.

A grin, because Deacon knows he is damn near incapable of backing off, especially when MacCready is egging him on with that arrogant, know-it-all smirk. _I’m the only one who gets to look like that._

Above them both, a low roll of thunder rumbles across the sky.

**********

After dinner, they end up sitting on the floor in the front room of the house in a kind of three-person circle, backs braced up against the couch and chair, passing a half empty bottle of whiskey between them. No one’s really drinking that much, but there’s something sweetly intimate about it all the same; no individual cups, just the three of them leaning and stretching over each other to hand off the bottle, fingertips brushing, the faintest taste of another person’s mouth on the glass rim.

The rain’s coming down in earnest now, pattering loudly on the metal roof, and the cozy, warm feeling in Deacon’s chest has him practically floating. Deacon isn’t interested in examining it too closely, because why screw up a good thing, but he can’t deny that being here with his two pals, shit-talking and reminiscing and half-flirting, feels almost like coming home. Fixer is down to a tank top and some ratty jeans, and Deacon has to admit it’s been nice to see her in something other than combat armor, and the pretty little flush on her cheeks and chest is almost too distracting.

“Mac, that shirt is filthy,” Fixer laughs, nodding toward the dirt-smeared t-shirt MacCready is wearing and nudging him with her outstretched foot. “Don’t you have something nicer to wear? You know we never have company.” There’s a tilt to her voice that Deacon almost recognizes. _Some prewar thing, probably._ She has a lot of those private jokes with herself, references that few people alive today would never understand.

“Okay, first of all, ‘company’? Deacon’s company now?” Mac shoots back with a smirk. “And I’m not hearing any complaints on his end.”

Deacon toasts MacCready with the whiskey bottle, grinning and taking a quick gulp. “MacCready, you have my full support in whatever peasant rags you choose to wear,” Deacon says, and laughs when MacCready flips him the bird.

“Go change, you hooligan,” Fixer says, in a mock-stern voice. “Or if you don’t have anything better to put on instead, you can at least take that dirty thing off and let us admire the view.” Fixer looks expectantly at him through her lashes and raises an eyebrow, and Deacon sees a tiny, nearly imperceptible shiver run through MacCready. _That’s...interesting._

“Fine,” MacCready grumbles, standing up and peeling off his shirt, going a little slower than was strictly necessary as Deacon lets loose a long wolf whistle. Damn, Mac, not bad for a skinny little thing, Deacon thinks, admiring Mac’s toned upper body.

“C’mon baby, gimmie a spin,” Fixer says with a wicked grin, but he can see the heat in her eyes, and in the way she leans forward slightly to drink in the sight. “That’s what I like to see.” 

“Yeah,” Deacon says, unable to hold back his appreciative once-over of MacCready’s shirtless form, “it’d be a damn shame to stop the show now, wouldn’t it?”

MacCready looked startled for a just a second, and Deacon sees his arms twitch in an aborted attempt to cover his chest, but then he twists his face into a self-deprecating “yeah right” expression and snorts. Right before he settles back down on the ground Deacon sees the blush on his cheeks. _Cute. Definitely cute._

“I’m serious! Now I admit, I was surprised when I first found out about you two, but now? I’m starting to get the picture….a _very_ good picture.” Deacon tilts his shades down and winks at MacCready, feeling another dangerous flash of heat when MacCready bites his lip, looking embarrassed but pleased.

Deacon knows he needs to reel it back, that this is dangerous ground he’s playing on right now, but the two of them are looking at him with those slow smiles and the electricity is crackling between them in the air and he just… _likes_ them. He likes them too much, and the rain pounding down on the roof is so loud it blocks everything else out, like they’re the only three people in the world.

_They’ll go to bed soon, you’ll discretely jerk off in that little makeshift room they made for you, and everything will be back to normal tomorrow._

“Do you guys even need me here, or should I excuse myself?” Fixer asks archly, her eyes dark in the flickering light. Her voice is lower than Deacon is used to hearing. It sounds almost dangerous, and he feels the coil in his lower belly tighten.

“Now Fix, why would you say something like that,” he drawls, letting his teasing grin curl into the slow, rakish smile he usually reserves for seducing a mark. She tilts her chin up in a clear challenge, and before he can stop himself he’s crawling over to her on his hands and knees. He places one hand next to her crossed legs and reaches up with the other to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You know we both want you here.”

MacCready is watching them intently, the faint blush still on his cheeks, mouth slightly open. He doesn’t look angry or upset, no, he looks fucking _hypnotized,_ and Deacon feels the weight of his gaze like a physical pressure as he drags the pad of his thumb over Fixer’s full lower lip, her humid breath ghosting against his hand.

“Ain’t that right, Bobby?” Deacon says lazily, meeting MacCready’s rapt gaze. MacCready swallows hard and takes a shuddering breath and _fuck_ but this is getting out of control.

“Yeah, baby,” MacCready says huskily, shifting his legs slightly to, Deacon is sure, relieve the tightness in his pants, and just the _thought_ of MacCready getting hard for him has Deacon biting back a groan.

He turns back to Fixer, his thumb still resting lightly on her mouth and his fingers feathering over her cheek and neck. Fixer’s pupils are blown, swallowing up the brown of her irises, and Deacon can feel the rapid, erratic pulse in her neck as she tries to get her breathing under control. It would be easy, _so_ damn easy, to slide his hand around to the back of her head and tilt her forward until they were kissing and he could finally, _finally_ hear her gasp against him and touch her and taste her and…

“Deacon, wait,” Fixer says in a breathless voice that he’d only heard once before. “Wait, we should -”

Deacon pulls away sharply as if he’d been burned. _Fuck. FUCK. You stupid, greedy bastard, what the fuck is wrong with you?_

“I’m sorry,” Deacon says immediately, scrambling backward as if Fixer had shouted at him. “Shit! Shit, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have…” he staggers up to his feet, feeling weak with fear and shame. _They are never going to talk to you again, WHY do you do this shit, why do you ruin every good thing that comes to you, why why why._

“No!” Fixer says, jumping up with him, shooting a quick ‘help me!’ glance at MacCready. “No, no, it’s okay! That’s not what I - damnit,” she swears, reaching out to touch him, but Deacon backs away so quickly he almost trips, and he’s already scanning for his pack so he can just get the hell out of here, rainstorm be damned.

“Deacon,” MacCready says, on his feet too, holding out a calming hand but not approaching him, “it’s fine. Everything’s good -- I’m not mad, Jules isn’t mad. We just wanted to talk before we...” he trails off, looking over to Fixer for guidance.

 _Before…?_ Deacon takes a deep breath and wills himself to calm down. “I’m sorry,” he starts again, but Jules cuts him off.

“Stop it, Deacon. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she says firmly. “Firstly, you didn’t actually do anything, second...I mean, I’m pretty sure we were all on the same wavelength just now.” A tiny, mischievous little smile, and some of the tightness in Deacon’s chest eases marginally.

“Umm, yeah, okay,” Deacon says, but Fixer holds up a hand and interrupts him again.

“Hold up, let me finish,” she says, taking a step toward him slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees MacCready lowering his hands and moving to stand behind Fixer. “Look...uh, well, I’m sure there’s a more graceful way to say this, but...we were planning on, um, just straight-up asking you tonight anyway. If you wanted to, you know. Have sex...with us. Both of us.”

Deacon stares at her, unmoving. _This cannot be happening._ Fixer was shifting her weight from foot to foot and twisting her hands together, more nervous than he’d ever seen her. Behind her, MacCready chuckles and comes forward to stand next to her, stilling the awkward fidgeting of her hands with his own and kissing her on the cheek.

“God Jules, you are such a dork,” he says affectionately, rolling his eyes at Deacon. _Our girl. Shit. OUR girl._

“Me?” She says, mock-offended. “What, like you have some super smooth way of asking our closest friend if he wants to bang us?” In the back of his mind, Deacon knows they’re putting on a bit of a show to give him time to regain his equilibrium, and he’s almost pathetically grateful for it.

MacCready shrugs, all cocky confidence. “Sure.” He walks up to Deacon, his smirk fading into a genuine, sweet smile, and places his hands gently on Deacon’s shoulders. He leans up and whispers into Deacon’s ear, just for the two of them, “Hey, you good with this? Can I kiss you now?” MacCready’s voice is soft and low, and sends a shiver down Deacon’s spine.

Deacon swallows, heart pounding so hard he thinks he might pass out. _Holy shit. Hooooly shit._ “I - okay. Yeah,” he whispers back, and before he can unstick himself from shock-paralysis MacCready draws him into a slow, light kiss, keeping his hands still, not pressing into him or going too far. _Kissing MacCready. I am kissing MacCready right now._

MacCready draws away, letting his hands drift down Deacon’s chest and Deacon is breathing way too hard for a kiss that chaste. “Wow, Mac. You...are pretty good at that,” he says, trying to get his voice to sound somewhat close to normal, and MacCready’s still smiling as he steps back slightly to give Deacon some room, one hand sliding down to clasp Deacon’s wrist and squeezing reassuringly.

“Yeah,” says Fixer, grinning and reaching out tentatively to brush her hand against Deacon’s side. “Mac’s _much_ less annoying when you get to reap the benefits of that smart mouth.”

Deacon laughs, breaking the tension a little, and Fixer looks palpably relieved that he’s not running out the door.

“But listen, Deacon,” Fixer says seriously, “There’s no pressure, okay? You absolutely don’t have to, you don’t have to give any reasons for why you don’t want to. And I promise, we will _never_ bring this up again, ever. Everything will be normal.”

“No, I do! Want to, with you two, I mean. I do. It’s just...this is crazy, right?” Deacon mumbles, trying valiantly to ignore the burn of Fixer’s hands at his ribs, the brush of MacCready’s thumb against his wrist.

“It doesn’t have to be,” she says softly, pulling away slightly. “It doesn’t have to be anything we don’t want it to. There’s no rules anymore anyway, right?”

Something flits across her face, too fast for most people to recognize it, but hey, he’s not a super spy for nothing. Desperation, with a hint of barely-there anger, and she seems so comfortable in the Wasteland that he sometimes forgets how it must be for her, who woke up into a nightmare that never ends. A world with no rules, no boundaries, just a rapidly expanding universe with her in the center, spinning alone with no chart. Infinitely vast and terrifying. So she wants another anchor - is that really so surprising? _I...can do that for her. Yeah._

“And you’re okay with this?” Deacon asks, turning to MacCready.

“Jesus, why does everyone think I’m doing this out of some noble, goodness-of-my-heart crap?” MacCready laughs and lifts up his free hand to tick off items. “I love Jules, I like you, and your voice does things to me I cannot describe. Uh, yeah, this sounds like a great idea to me.” MacCready’s other hand presses lightly against Deacon’s wrist, and he feels his flagging erection perk _right_ back up.

“Tell you what,” Fixer says, reaching out to untangle her and MacCready from Deacon. “Mac and I are going to bed. You can either come join us, or stay in the back room we made up for you. Your choice completely. Just whatever you want, okay partner?”

Fixer’s looking at him steadily, with such obvious warmth and tenderness that he can barely speak. He nods, mute, and he can see that she wants to reach out to him, wants to touch him, but is afraid to scare him off again. She smiles, and leads Mac into their bedroom, leaving the door half open.

Deacon stands for a moment in the middle of the room, head still spinning. _That...was unexpected._ The storm is still raging outside, and he’s practically trembling with adrenaline, his thoughts racing in circles. _This is a terrible idea. But I really, really want to. And they want to. It’s not so bad, right? If we all want to, what’s the harm? They’re in love with each other, so it’s not like they’d…need me, to give them anything. I can’t possibly disappoint them if they’re together already._

Which, if he was being honest with himself, is part of what makes Fixer and Mac so damn attractive. He cared about them both, but it was more than that. They were a pair, a closed circuit, who would share that part of their lives with him. Who could let him in without any pressure, and he could walk away from without hurting too badly.

And buried under _that,_ like the relentless tug of currents beneath the ocean waves, is how inevitable this feels, as if the three of them had been heading to this exact room, this exact night, for the past year, and Deacon is frankly terrified that for once he might actually get something he wants.

_I...Fuck, I..._

A pause, a deep breath, and Deacon abruptly straightens and follows Fixer and Mac into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY

Fixer and MacCready are kissing when he walks in. Her arms are stretched out over his shoulders, hands loose in the air, and he’s holding her gently around the waist. There’s a kind of symmetry to the state of their undress -- Fixer’s pants lay crumpled by the door, the hem of her tank top brushing against her upper thighs, and MacCready is still shirtless.

They must’ve heard him come in, but neither turns to look at him right away, and Deacon drinks in the sight of them. They look so good together, so natural and easy, and even though he can’t shake off that intrusive, outsider feeling, the curl of heat in his gut at being in the same room with them has him stifling a small sound, slightly embarrassed to be so turned on from just watching them. _God, even if they just let me being in the same room while they fuck, that would be more than enough._

MacCready has his back to him and Deacon can see the muscles shift when he bends to kiss and suck on Fixer’s neck, feels his fingers twitch as he imagines touching, stroking the skin there.

Fixer opens her eyes, meeting his gaze over MacCready’s shoulder, and her smile is full of heat and hunger and something close to triumph. Her eyelids flutter again when MacCready’s grip tightens on her hips, and she bends her head slightly to nip him on the shoulder. Deacon hears a muffled chuckle from MacCready.

“Hi,” she says in a throaty voice. Deacon is sure she’s never looked at him like _that_ before, and he made it his business to know the full inventory of Fixer Facial Expressions. He shivers. _This is happening._

“Hi,” he replies hoarsely, scraping together every ounce of training he can muster to sound casual, normal, just a No Big Deal, About To Fuck My Partner And Her Boyfriend kind of voice. He’s momentarily distracted by the realization that Des will blow a _gasket_ if she ever finds out about this, fraternization and all, but that thought stutters and dies when MacCready gives Fixer’s neck one final, sucking kiss and turns to face him.

“So, you’re in, huh?” MacCready’s breathing a little heavier and quicker than normal, but he still looks so damn pleased with himself that Deacon thinks it ought to be criminal. 

“Yeah, you two maneuvered me into your clutches,” Deacon replies, aiming for breezy, but he can tell Fixer isn’t fooled, that she can see him teetering on the edge of losing his nerve. 

She doesn’t say anything yet, though, just pulls a chair out from a small desk and places it one-handed next to the bed. Gripping the back, she nods down at it, the wordless command clear.

“Sit,” she says quietly. “To start, at least. I know you like to watch.” A thrill runs up his spine, equal parts arousal and mortification that she had him pegged so completely. “And when you’re ready,” she continues, darting the tip of her tongue out to wet her lips slightly, “you can jump in.”

Swallowing hard, Deacon nods and settles himself in the chair, legs spread slightly to relieve some of the pressure on his trapped erection, and rests his hands on his thighs. 

“Good,” Fixer purrs, releasing the chair and scraping her fingernails over his shoulder as she walks back to MacCready, who’d moved to sit on the edge of the bed, arms out behind him supporting his weight. In the dim light Deacon can see the trail of hair on the firm lines of his lower stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his pants. When Deacon drags his eyes back up, MacCready is smirking at him knowingly. _Okay, so not my most subtle leer._

Just as he’s about to open his mouth to make a smart remark, he’s distracted by Fixer climbing into MacCready’s lap, MacCready’s arms coming up automatically to support her back.

“How about you, baby? You still good?” She says softly, resting her forehead against his and stroking his cheek, settling her thighs on either side of him. 

MacCready rolls his eyes with an exasperated sigh, in that way Deacon is starting to recognize as MacCready-speak for _I love you, I love you, I love you._

“Oh yeah. Can’t you tell?” He grins with a tiny upward thrust of hips that has Fixer taking a quick, sharp breath and pressing down against him in response. His hands slide down to cup her panty-clad ass and bring her closer to him, slotting their bodies together, and Deacon’s hands clench automatically at the sight. _Ohhhh fuck._

“Are you ready to give Deacon a little show, then?” Her voice is honey and whiskey, and Deacon’s mouth goes dry when she shoots him a heavy-lidded glance and deliberately rolls her hips a little harder against MacCready. 

MacCready groans against her, fingertips dipping into the waistband of her underwear. “Yeah,” he breathes, his gaze pinging back and forth between the half-naked woman in his arms and Deacon, palming himself slowly through his jeans. Fixer captures his attention with a deep, slow kiss, still grinding down against him, and then whispers in his ear, just loud enough for Deacon to hear.

“Pants off. Now.”

She reaches down between their bodies and deftly unspools his belt, and despite MacCready’s sound of protest steps off his lap and pulls him upright. MacCready kicks his pants off and reaches to slide his boxers off, but Fixer stops him with a touch of her hand.

“Slowly,” she says softly, tilting her chin toward Deacon, still transfixed by the scene in front of him. MacCready looks over and grins, then slides his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, the bulge of his erection clearly visible in the loose fabric, and slowly peels them down. When he finally pulls the garment off Deacon can’t hold back a groan at the sight, MacCready fully naked with his cock jutting out, smirking at him while Fixer pushes him a little roughly into a sitting position on the bed.

When she kneels down in front of him, hand reaching up to stroke him and wringing a long moan from MacCready’s throat, Deacon thinks he might just pass out. 

Openly panting now, Deacon forces himself to pull his own hand away from his crotch and just watch while Fixer swirls her clever little tongue around the head of MacCready’s cock. Mac jerks toward her with a hoarse cry, and she presses his hips firmly back into the mattress, thumbs pressing into the triangle of pubic hair at the base of his cock, taking him more fully into her mouth.

“Nngg, ffuuu, Jules…” MacCready pants, eyes shut and tangling one hand into her hair and fisting the other in the sheets. Fixer’s cheeks hollow as she sucks Mac harder, one hand leaving MacCready to drift down between her own legs. _Is she…? Oh fuck. Jesus, I can’t...I can’t even think._

There’s still a part of Deacon that doesn’t really believe this is happening, doesn’t believe he’ll even be allowed to stay, much less be with them. He feels...hungry. Hungry to touch them, hungry to feel MacCready moaning for him, hungry to slide his hands over Fixer’s shoulders and neck and legs, hungry feel them against his own skin.

_Fuck it._

Standing abruptly, Deacon moves over to the bed. Fixer releases Mac’s cock from her mouth with a wet pop, bringing both hands up to keep stroking him and looks at Deacon expectantly. MacCready’s eyes are still screwed shut, and he’s thrusting slowly against Fixer’s palm.

Slowly, Deacon reaches out to brush his hand over MacCready’s chest, dragging his fingertips over the smaller man’s collarbone, lightly circling a nipple. MacCready’s eyes fly open to meet Deacon’s gaze, letting out a breathy gasp and moaning around Deacon’s name, arching up into his touch.

“Ohhh, Deacon…I...Fffuuu, I,” he babbles, and Deacon feels his cock twitch at how _responsive_ MacCready is, squirming and panting at the lightest touch.

Deacon crawls onto the bed and rearranges MacCready until the smaller man is settled in front of him, his back resting against Deacon’s chest and wedged firmly between Deacon’s legs. Circling his arms around MacCready’s waist, Deacon brushes his lips up against his ear. Fixer hums with approval below him, and he feels the quick, electric touch of her fingers against his ankle, letting him know this is good, it’s _good._ He sucks in a quick breath as he gets another front-row seat to her wrapping her pretty lips around MacCready’s dripping erection. 

Deacon licks a hot stripe up on the side of Mac’s neck, and he can hear the whine trapped in the smaller man’s throat as he twists his head to kiss him greedily, hot and breathless and trembling now that Fixer has her mouth on him again.

MacCready moves in a desperate, confused way, trying to thrust up into the wet heat of Fixer’s mouth but stretching around to suck on Deacon’s tongue at the same time. _Needy, greedy little thing, aren’t you?_ Deacon can’t help grinding up against MacCready’s back, feeling the delicious friction against the fabric of his jeans and the hard planes of MacCready’s body, running his hands across Mac’s chest and sides and feeling texture of his skin.

“Oh God, I can...ffuuu, I can feel you cock against...against my back,” MacCready groans out, pulling his mouth away from Deacon to gasp for breath.

“Yeah?” Deacon murmurs in his ear, loving the hard shudder that runs through Mac at the sound of his voice. “You feel how hard I am for you, Bobby? You like feeling me pressed up against you, your girl’s mouth on you?” A slight thrust of his hips to drive the point home.

MacCready lets out a stuttering moan, his head falling back against Deacon’s shoulder as he pants, and Deacon scrapes Mac’s earlobe with his teeth, tasting sweat and cigarette smoke on his skin.

“I like seeing you like this,” Deacon breathes, glancing down to see Fixer’s head bobbing faster now, her ass sticking out behind her temptingly as she works MacCready’s cock with her mouth and hands. Deacon tugs MacCready back slightly, pulling more of his weight against Deacon, effectively pinning him between Fixer and himself. “You look so good right now, all naked and spread out for us.”

“Oh...oh baby, oh please. Please I...I’m gonna...” MacCready moans out, verging on incoherence, and Deacon can feel his impending orgasm in the tension thrumming through the smaller man’s body. _I’m not that far behind, if we’re being honest here,_ he thinks to himself as MacCready writhes against him, rubbing up against his achingly hard cock.

The speed and pitch of MacCready’s cries increases, and Deacon pulls him in for another searing kiss, squeezing him tighter against his chest. Then MacCready’s hips are arching helplessly upward, shoving himself deeper into Fixer’s mouth, and Deacon swallows his cry of completion, one hand moving up to circle MacCready’s throat, wanting to feel the vibrations against his palm as he comes.

MacCready’s heart is hammering in his chest, and Deacon releases his lips to give him a chance to catch his breath as he lolls his head back against Deacon’s shoulder, eyes glazed and half open.

“Oh. Oh man,” he says in a slurred voice, mouth brushing against Deacon’s neck as Deacon strokes him soothingly. “That was...yeah.” He lets out a sigh and melts into Deacon’s touch, humming slightly with satisfaction.

Fixer raises herself up on her knees with a wicked, pleased grin and swipes at the corner of her mouth with her thumb, licking the last traces of MacCready’s orgasm into her mouth, and _fuck_ but Deacon is still so hard he can barely stand it. 

She gets her feet under her and leans over the two of them, sliding a hand along MacCready’s neck to pull him up for a slow, deep kiss. 

“Christ, Jules,” he mumbles, smiling sweetly at her and reaching up to caress her face. “You are freakin’ incredible.”

She chuckles softly against his mouth. “Back at ya, babe.” Pulling back slightly, she turns to Deacon and almost automatically leans forward, but then stops abruptly.

“Oh, uh. Can I...I mean, I know I just…with Mac...” she says hesitantly, and Deacon’s still so buzzed with lust and the sight of her and having a naked MacCready in his lap that he’s confused for a few seconds before it clicks into place. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah! Yes, God, Fixer, kiss me. Or, let me kiss you, or...anything” he says, ignoring MacCready’s stifled laughter against neck. He gets a lip-biting grin out of her for that, and she leans forward quickly and kisses him, as if afraid he’ll change his mind, and it feels so easy, so good and sweet that Deacon can’t believe they waited so long to do this. He draws her lower lip between his teeth, just like he wanted to out in the front room, and her low, quiet moan is music to his ears. _Yes. Yes yes yes._

More muffled laughter from below them, as MacCready starts shifting and squirming between the two of them. “Okay, you guys have to let me up now,” he huffs good-naturedly. 

Fixer pulls away, mouth open slightly and eyes dark with promise, and gives MacCready space to flop bonelessly onto his back on on the bed, and he makes a ‘please, continue’ motion with his hands, smiling almost indulgently. Fixer shoots him an amused look but grabs Deacon by the hand and pulls him up to stand.

Before he can second guess himself, he reels her in for another open-mouthed kiss, one hand wrapped around her waist and the other cradling the back of her head, wanting to feel her body pressed up against his. She moans again against his mouth, and even though part of him wants to stretch this moment out forever, where he’s just kissing her with the taste of MacCready on both their lips, the way she’s moving against him has him feeling desperate to touch her, to see the look on her face when she comes. 

Deacon reaches for the hem of her tank top and they break away as she peels it off, and Deacon knows the noise he makes when he finally sees her tits is slightly embarrassing, but he can’t help it. She’s just so _pretty,_ and he’s been fantasizing about this for so long.

“Damn. You are somethin’ else, you know that?” he says, reaching out cup her breasts, rolling both her nipples between his fingers. She cries out sharply, reaching out to grab his shoulders, and his cock is _straining_ against the crotch of his jeans.

“Deacon, that feels...oh, oh,” she pants, and he can see how worked up she is, arching into his hands and pressing up against him trying to get some friction between her legs. He spares a moment to yank off his shirt, and then reaches for her again greedily, tugging at the waistband of her panties and watching hungrily as she slides them off and steps out of them, reaching for his belt. 

As Fixer fumbles with the buckle, Deacon sees Mac climb off the bed and walk toward them, pressing up behind Deacon and sliding his hands against Deacon’s ribs, and as soon as Fixer tosses the belt aside she’s kissing him again. Suddenly Deacon realizes that Mac managed to get his jeans open, and before he can react there’s a rough, calloused hand on his cock, palming him lazily through his underwear, and Deacon’s knees nearly buckle at finally, _finally_ having some direct contact on his aching erection.

Deacon shudders and groans, feeling so aroused he thinks he might just die, having both of them touching him and undressing him, with Fixer’s tongue in his mouth and Mac’s hand on his cock. Mercifully MacCready tugs his pants and underwear down, then stands up on tiptoes to lay biting, open-mouthed kisses on Deacon’s shoulders. 

Trying to keep himself in check, Deacon takes a moment just to take in Fixer, naked and panting in front of him, and he trails his hands up the lines of her shoulders, the gentle curve of her waist, before finally brushing against the thatch of dark curls between her legs, cupping her cunt lightly and pressing the heel of his hand against her. She gasps even at the slight contact, shuddering so hard she has to reach out to grab his arm, wobbling a little. 

“Deacon,” she moans, pressing down against him, and he can feel how slick she is already. Behind him Deacon feels MacCready smirk against his shoulder, apparently recovered enough from his post-orgasm haze to be a smartass again.

“She so hot for it, Deeks,” he murmurs in Deacon’s ear. “I bet you can get her off right now, just touching her like that.” Deacon thinks MacCready sounds _way_ too smug for someone who was writhing between him and Fixer not ten minutes ago, but Deacon’s never been one to pass up a good idea, and Fixer is _trembling_ against his hand.

Slowly, MacCready reaches around and places his smaller hand on Deacons, right against Fixer’s cunt, and twines their fingers together. Deacon gets the idea just as Mac presses both of their index fingers up against the opening of Fixer’s body, sliding together up into her wet heat in one smooth stroke.

“Oh, Jesus,” she moans, “Nnggg, fuck, that’s...oh, oh.” She jerks against them both, and Deacon thinks feeling her like this, slippery and so hot even against his flushed skin, Mac’s warm breath against his neck, fingering her _with_ him, is the sexiest thing he’s ever done. 

MacCready is still whispering in his ear. “Mmm, feel that little quiver? She’s so close already.” MacCready kisses the side of Deacon’s neck almost tenderly and slips his hand away from Fixer, letting Deacon take over. Fixer whines a little at the loss of contact, but when Deacon slides another finger into her and starts to circle her clit with his thumb it turns into a pleased groan as she grips his shoulders again. Deacon keeps a steady, gliding motion against her clit, coaxing more sweet, desperate sounds from her as she races toward her own release.

Suddenly Deacon feels Mac’s hand sliding back down his stomach and teasing the head of his cock, and Deacon groans, snapping his hips forward automatically, thrusting a little harder into Fixer than he meant to, but Fixer just moans and shudders and bucks harder against him.

“Mac, that is very distracting,” Deacon grits out, reaching out to steady Fixer and get a little more leverage to find that spot inside her that would make her come apart for him. 

“What, you can’t multi-task?” MacCready smirks at him, reaching around the base of Deacon’s cock but not moving, not stroking upward, just holding him.

Fixer is panting now, trembling on the edge, and Deacon wants so badly to see her come, to _make_ her come. Trying to ignore his own body’s insistent demands and Mac’s traitorous hand and hot breath against his shoulder, he curls his fingers until he finds the angle that makes her cry out and thrust down.

“That’s it, Fix. That’s it. God you look so fucking good right now,” he hums. “I wanna see you come, I _need_ to see you come. Let it out, c’mon, let me feel you.” 

Rubbing rhythmically against her clit, Deacon feels the tension ratcheting up in her body, her hips rolling against him as she fucks herself on his hand, until she goes taut in his arms and nearly collapses with a sharp, sweet cry, eyes closed and back arched, and a gush of hot fluid drips down his palm. 

Deacon works her through the aftershocks with his fingers, and when she opens her eyes, hazy with satisfaction and pleasure, he thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“That,” she whispers, leaning up against him and sounding practically drugged with pleasure, “was even better than I’d imagined.” She smiles and reaches up to run her thumb over his cheek, and it’s so familiar amid everything that his heart stutters for a minute in his chest. _I know you. I see you._

Her other hand closes over MacCready’s, still motionless on Deacon’s cock and gives it a playful squeeze, then she takes two steps backwards and collapses on the bed with a breathless, giddy half-giggle.

A sharp nip on his shoulder, and the grip on his cock goes from teasing to insistent. Deacon lets out a relieved groan, and he can feel Mac’s lips curl into a smug smile. Maneuvering himself in front of Deacon, he walks Deacon backwards til Deacon’s shoved up against the wall, his hand still on Deacon’s cock.

Mac’s pretty blue eyes are hazy with lust, and Deacon feels the other man’s already half hard cock against his hip when he presses up against him for a kiss.

“C’mon. My turn,” MacCready says huskily, and before Deacon can really process what’s happening Mac is dropping to his knees and licking up the underside of Deacon’s cock, hands sliding around Deacon’s hips to draw him in closer as he takes him fully into his mouth. 

Deacon snaps his hips forward with a loud groan before he can stop himself, and when Mac swirls his tongue around the head of his cock he nearly stops breathing. 

“Fuckkkk, oh fuck...Christ Mac, your mouth,” Deacon gasps, hands go automatically to Mac’s head, gripping his hair. MacCready makes a pleased, guttural sound when Deacon holds him in place and thrusts shallowly into his mouth, nearly mindless with pleasure and knowing he won’t last much longer. _Oh god...how is he - fuck, fuck._

Deacon loosens his grasp on MacCready’s head, trying to pull himself together and give Mac a chance to adjust. MacCready pulls back a little, getting his breathing under control and moving a hand around to stroke up Deacon’s shaft.

“Mac, you don’t have to...” Deacon starts, trying to tell him that it was okay, that just jerking him off while he was on his knees in front of him was enough, was _more_ than enough, better than he could’ve ever hoped for.

“Relax, old man -- I _have_ done this before,” he says with a poutly little huff and quick twist of his wrist that has Deacon bucking forward into his palm. “Just a little out of practice is all.”

And before Deacon can even respond, to either the delicious friction or the ‘old man’ crack, MacCready swallows him down again, taking him even deeper, and the warm tightness around his cock has Deacon trembling with the effort of not just grabbing MacCready’s face and fucking his mouth. He can feel his balls drawing up, feels the knot at the base of his spine tighten with every tiny movement.

Deacon’s head falls back against the wall and he sees Fixer watching them, leaning up against the headboard, eyes focused on them in a way he’s only ever seen before in a gunfight. Even from across the small room he can see the smooth glide of her fingers over her slick, shining pussy, watching her lover on his knees in front of another man. _Oh god. They might actually kill me with this._

Gasping, Deacon feels electricity sparking along every nerve, and knows he’s moments away. 

“Wait Bobby, I’m so close, you can’t...ahhhh you have to stop, I’m going to…” Deacon babbles breathlessly, and tries for a blind moment to dislodge MacCready, but Mac just makes a disgruntled sound and pulls Deacon’s hips closer to him, taking his cock so deep his nose is buried in Deacon’s pubic hair, and something inside Deacon unclenches as he thrusts erratically into MacCready’s mouth.

With a strangled, trapped sound he comes, emptying himself in three hard spurts, feeling the contractions of MacCready’s throat as he swallows convulsively. His hands grip MacCready’s head and he arches his back to get just a little closer to the sweet warmth of MacCready’s mouth.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath as the aftershocks lick through him, Deacon relaxes his death grip on MacCready and pulls the other man up against him. 

“Wow. So yeah. You look... _very_ pretty on your knees,” Deacon says hoarsely, mouth pressed against MacCready’s temple, and he sees the flush of pleasure that blooms across MacCready’s cheeks at the praise.

“Yeah, yeah,” MacCready grins, dragging Deacon backwards to the bed and pushing him down onto it, scooting them both up to Fixer. “C’mon -- let’s take a breather.”

Deacon feels boneless and loose, still blissed out from his orgasm, and barely registers Fixer and MacCready settling on either side of him, Fixer draping herself against his side, lifting his arm so she could get more access to him and throwing her arm across his stomach, and MacCready tangling his legs with Deacon’s. As his heartbeat slows, Deacon closes his eyes and tries to memorize this feeling, the soft press of Fixer’s breast against his ribs, MacCready’s thumb idly tracing patterns on his hip. _Just for a minute. Just a little bit._

“I think we broke him,” MacCready stage-whispers to Fixer, and she reaches over Deacon’s chest to smack MacCready lightly. 

“ _You_ broke him, with that sinful mouth of yours,” she says, shifting to move closer to Deacon.

Deacon chuckles, then -- “Hey, wait a minute, Mac. ‘Old man’?” He says, hauling himself up on his elbows to better glare down at MacCready over the tops of his shades.

MacCready laughs and shrugs, clearly unrepentant. “Well, I obviously have a type -- Jules has almost a decade on me, and you’re definitely older than her.”

An indignant yelp on the other side him as Fixer pops up, too. “Excuse me? Ohhhh, someone is begging for it tonight,” she says archly, and neither him nor Fixer miss the twitch of MacCready’s cock at her words.

That smartass grin is still dancing on MacCready’s lips. “Try me,” he says, the same teasing, challenging tone Deacon’s heard from him for over two years. But now Deacon’s in on the joke, a part of their dance and their game, and secretly that thrills him almost as much as a naked Fixer climbing on top of him, taking MacCready’s chin in her hand and forcing his head back slightly.

“What do you think, partner?” Fixer asks silkily, eyes on MacCready but hips and wet cunt sliding against Deacon’s rapidly reforming erection. “Wanna help me teach Mac here to be more polite to his elders?” He hears the question behind it, too. _Do you want to stay for more?_

Deacon brings his hands up to her hips and moves against her more deliberately, hearing both Fixer and MacCready suck in a hard breath.

“Oh yeah, Fix. Let’s show this whippersnapper who he’s dealing with.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of just smut, because I have exactly ZERO self-control

“Okay, lover,” Fixer says, still straddling Deacon and holding MacCready’s chin in one hand, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “You have a choice -- you can either be good, and we’ll hold you down and get you off, or you can sit in that chair over there and make all the mouthy remarks you want...while you keep your hands to yourself and watch me and Deacon.”

MacCready lets out a long breath, relaxing into Fixer’s hold. “Mmm, both are tempting,” he says, voice dropping a little lower. “But since we have _company,_ I guess I can be good, or at least more appreciative of the generations that’ve...come before me.” That last with a wink to Deacon, who snorts, hand still on Fixer’s hips and luxuriating in the warm, wet glide of her pussy against his half-hard cock. 

“Good choice,” Fixer says with a grin, shifting slightly on Deacon’s lap, and he can’t help pushing his hips up against her, wanting to feel the soft, tender skin of her inner thighs and cunt more fully. She closes her eyes at the sensation, pressing her free hand down against his chest as her eyelids flutter. Giving a bare shake of her head, she looks down at him, eyes dark. “Later,” she says, in a voice full of promise, and Deacon knows she’s teasing herself as much as him, drawing it out for the both of them. 

Lifting herself off Deacon, Fixer climbs over MacCready to the other edge of the bed, lingering slightly by his face and kneeling down next to him, and MacCready groans. 

“Mmmm, Jules...I can think of something I can do to make up for my terrible breach of decorum,” he says, eyes focused between her legs as she nudges him over to the center of the mattress. Fixer raises her eyebrow at him, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “C’mon, I’ve barely touched you all night, angel. Let me put my mouth to better use.”

Fixer hums and taps her finger against her mouth, eyes up to the ceiling and lips twitching as she tries to keep a straight face. Deacon’s watching them avidly, still stretched out next to MacCready, waiting to see how Fixer wants to play this. _My vote is for the face sitting, if anyone’s asking._ His lower belly clenches slightly at the thought of Fixer lowering herself onto MacCready, riding his tongue and mouth, moaning while she fucked his face. 

“You know, I think that’s something reserved for polite young men,” she says, reaching over to stretch MacCready’s hands up to the headboard, fingertips circling around his wrists. “Not smart-aleky mercs.” 

MacCready makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan of frustration, but grips the headboard like Fixer wants, shifting a little restlessly. Deacon takes pity on him and reaches over Mac’s prone body to Fixer, nudging her legs apart after a quick glance for permission. Slowly he slides two fingers against her slick cunt, pressing up inside her briefly then withdrawing to stroke her clit, making her gasp, her composure crumbling a bit. 

Deacon moves his now glistening hand to MacCready’s mouth. 

“Suck,” he says quietly, pushing his fingers past MacCready’s lips. Fixer shivers slightly as MacCready moans and eagerly draws Deacon’s fingers into his mouth.

“You’re spoiling him, you know,” she says, looking at them both with such obvious fondness that Deacon has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like a fool.

MacCready’s hot little tongue is working Deacon’s fingers in an echo of the way he sucked Deacon’s cock, and he feels the connection like an electric pulse to his groin. _Jesus save me from these two._

“That’s it, Bobby,” he says, watching MacCready take his digits deeper into his mouth. “Open up for me. Taste your girl’s sweet cunt on my fingers.” MacCready moans louder around his fingers, and Deacon strokes his tongue lightly with his middle finger before pulling out. 

The mattress dips slightly as Fixer leans down to kiss MacCready’s spit-shined mouth, scratching lightly against his chest and tweaking a nipple so hard he gasps in her mouth. Deacon moves down MacCready’s body, kissing his stomach and hips along the way, avoiding his cock for the moment, cataloguing the spots where Mac was the most sensitive.

When Deacon pushes Mac’s legs apart and lets his fingers brush lightly against MacCready’s ass, Mac _whines_ and strains forward. Deacon shudders hard at the implication -- he wasn’t sure if that was something Mac would want, but thinking about his fingers or tongue or cock _inside_ him has Deacon gripping MacCready’s thighs to keep himself steady.

Fixer glances down at him when she feels MacCready’s body jerk, and he sees it click into place for her. She grins hugely but doesn’t miss a beat, throwing a leg over to straddle MacCready’s waist. She leans down over Mac’s body to whisper in his ear, obscuring Deacon’s view and giving the two of them a surprising measure of privacy. 

“Is that what you want?” she asks, with no trace of her earlier teasing tone. “You can have it, but you have to ask for it.”

Mac pushes his body against the light pressure of Deacon’s fingers. “Yes, god, yeah. I do. I want it.” 

“You want Deacon to finger you?” The words sound like dirty talk, but her tone is gentle, wanting to make sure, to make _absolute_ sure. 

“Yes, please yes,” MacCready breathes out, voice thick with arousal.

“Okay,” she says, and there’s something so tender, so loving about the way she says it that Deacon’s heart twists slightly in his chest. It ought to make him feel like an interloper, or jealous, or awkward, or _something_ other than soothed and happy and calm in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Fixer slides off MacCready with a parting kiss and grins down at Deacon with a quick nod, the same decisive nod she uses in the field. _All clear, you’re a go for fucking my boyfriend’s ass,_ and Deacon stifles a wildly inappropriate giggle.

Deacon strokes MacCready’s thighs slowly, drawing his attention back down to him as Fixer comes down to join him. “Have you done this before, Bobby?”

MacCready leverages himself up on his elbows and looks down at the two of them, kneeling between his legs. He bites his lip and shakes his head. “Jules asked a few times, but I was…I dunno, nervous. But I want to now.”

Deacon smiles and kisses MacCready on the inner thigh, feeling him tremble under his lips. _First time, baby, I’m gonna make it so good for you._ “I want to, too. We’ll go slow, okay?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, relaxing further against Deacon’s hands. 

“Hey, Fix?” Deacon says. “Any chance you’ve got some lube stashed away somewhere?”

Fixer blinks, then winces. “ _Shit,_ I don’t think so. Lemme check, but I think I left all that stuff back at Sanctuary. Wasn’t exactly planning on things going _this_ well.” 

Deacon laughs quietly, still rubbing his thumbs in slow circles against MacCready’s inner thighs, absorbing the impression of how warm and tender his skin was there. MacCready’s head is tilted back, exposing the tempting line of his throat, his breathing starting to pick up. “What, you didn’t think to bring your Bag O’ Sex Toys for this little seduction?”

“Are you kidding?” Fixer grins back. “I had it at 5 to 1 you’d bolt before we even finished talking to you.”

Impulsively, Deacon leans forward to kiss her, quick and chaste with no real heat, just because he _likes_ her so damn much; his hotshot partner, deadly and sharp and sweet, like the urban legend she told him about hard candy lollipops with a razor blade in the middle, and when she pulls back she’s slightly flushed and looking at him like she’s never seen anything quite like him before.

Before he can say anything, she blurts out “Okay, uh, I’ll be right back,” and pads naked out of the room.

Deacon scoots up and settles next to MacCready, half-leaning on him, one leg sliding between MacCready’s and resting his chin on Mac’s shoulder, and MacCready relaxes back on the bed, slinging one arm easily over Deacon’s back.

“You sure about this?” Deacon asks, rubbing his foot against MacCready’s ankle.

MacCready snorts with exasperation and Deacon swears he can _hear_ him roll his eyes above him. “Yes, _Mom,_ ” he says, that petulant whipcrack back in his voice.

Deacon props himself up on one elbow and looks down wordlessly at him, peering over his shades at MacCready’s cocky expression, then reaches down to grasp MacCready’s erection in a firm grip. MacCready whimpers as arches his hips up with a breathy moan. 

“Hmmm, I wonder how Fixer would feel if she came back, all hot and eager for you to show off for her, and you had already come all over yourself?” Deacon says with mock-concern, taking in every twitch of MacCready’s body as he strokes him slowly.

“What? That’s ch-cheating, if you jack me off.” MacCready is obviously trying to hold back, but can’t help rolling his hips into Deacon’s touch, overwhelmed by the sweet, steady friction. “That’d be _your_ fault, not - _nghh_ \- not mine.”

Deacon leans down to whisper, hot against Mac’s ear. “Baby, I’d lie.” His voice is a practiced, velvety rumble, pitched deliberately to make MacCready shiver. 

“You w-wouldn’t…” MacCready moans out, his outraged expression twisting back into lip-biting pleasure. 

“You think so?” Deacon licks up the shell of MacCready’s ear. MacCready tries to muster up a glare, but Deacon just smirks and spits into his palm before pulling his foreskin back and sliding it over the head of MacCready’s cock, saliva smearing with the precum already beading at the tip, before stroking him hard, once, and then releasing him. 

MacCready grits his teeth and lets out a frustrated breath, clearly torn between wanting to play Fixer’s game and to keep Deacon’s hands on him, trembling with the effort of staying still. 

Panting, MacCready looks up at him, eyes a little wild. “Deacon…”

Fixer saves them both when she walks back in empty-handed, and Deacon tries to swallow a slight twinge of disappointment. _You can’t have everything, you greedy bastard._ She stops and takes in the scene before her, Mac flushed and panting with the head of his painfully hard cock slightly damp, Deacon looking smug and studiedly casual, and raises an eyebrow. 

“Someone’s been a bad boy here, but I can’t tell who,” Deacon can hear the stifled laugh in her voice. Before either man can respond, she continues. “No lube. What do you think?”

Deacon looks down at MacCready, still breathing hard and gripping the sheets. “If we stick to basics, I think we can still make it work,” he says. MacCready nods frantically, spreading his legs, and Fixer sucks in a breath at the display.

“You are _shameless,_ ” she says, the curl of her lips making it clear it’s a compliment, and MacCready shivers again. Deacon moves back down to kneel between MacCready’s legs, sucking on his own fingers as Fixer goes to sit next to Mac on the bed, the better to see his reaction.

Slowly Deacon presses just one slick finger against the puckered rim of muscle, penetrating him slowly, his other hand coming up to lightly grip his cock. “That’s it,” he says soothingly. “Just give yourself a minute.” MacCready is squirming slightly, not in pain Deacon knows, but mild discomfort at the odd sensation. 

Deacon pauses and gives MacCready a chance to adjust to the feeling before slowly thrusting in and out, teasing the muscles inside him to life. MacCready lets out a slow hiss of breath as Fixer strokes his neck and chest. Deacon changes the angle slightly, looking for – _ahh, there we go,_ and MacCready _gasps_ and presses down instinctively, his whole body jerking.

“Fuck,” MacCready cries, and doesn’t seem to notice the swear slipping out. “Oh, oh, I - Jesus Deacon, what are - _unhhh_ \- what are you doing to me?” Deacon grins but doesn’t answer, just presses up against the spot again.

“Oh oh, y-yeah. Ungg. M-more, please more,” MacCready’s voice is ragged, his whole body shaking with the new, unexpected pleasure of Deacon’s finger against his prostate, and Deacon groans softly, the sound of MacCready begging him for _more, faster, please_ going straight to his dick. He knows Mac won’t last long, already too worked up from the teasing, but he wants to make him _sing,_ and he curls his finger to press up against him more firmly.

Glancing up at Fixer, Deacon sees her already watching him, lips parted and breath coming little pants, one hand cradling the back of MacCready’s head and the other pinching his nipple.

“He’s so close already, Fix. Just a single finger,” he says, sounding more than a little smug, and MacCready shudders hard at his words. 

Fixer lets out a shaky laugh. “Ah, to be young again, right?” She flicks her eyes down to MacCready’s cock and tilts her chin in an obvious invitation. “Go on, Deacon. He’s been good, he deserves his reward.”

Not wasting any time, Deacon leans over and guides MacCready’s cock closer to his mouth, licking the salty precum from the tip. Distantly he hears Fixer whispering a steady litany of praise and dirty talk in MacCready’s ear. Deacon wraps his lips around the flushed head of MacCready’s cock and gives it a wet, open-mouth suck before taking him in more fully. 

MacCready whines high in his throat and bucks his hips up, and Deacon finds a quick rhythm, fucking him with his hand and mouth. Dragging his tongue along the prominent vein on the underside of MacCready’s cock, Deacon relaxes his throat and lets Mac grind up against him, his own cock heavy between his legs, twitching at the taste and weight of MacCready’s erection against his tongue. 

Before Deacon’s even ready he feels MacCready start to clench around him, and suddenly he’s thrusting up hard and with a breathless, sobbing cry and Deacon’s mouth is flooded with his warm seed. Swallowing messily, a little semen dribbling down his chin, Deacon gives a final press upward with his finger, trying to give MacCready every last surge of pleasure before gently withdrawing. Letting Mac’s softening cock fall from him with one last, lingering lick, he props himself up to see his handiwork.

MacCready takes several gulping breaths as he comes down from his high, looking flushed and wrecked and utterly debauched. Deacon crawls up Mac’s supine body until he captures Mac’s mouth with his own, kissing him deeply. 

“How was that?” Deacon asks, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

MacCready opens his eyes slowly, looking dazed. “Hoooly crap. So that’s what they make such a big deal out of, huh?” he breathes.

Deacon laughs and bumps his cheek against MacCready’s. “That was barely the beginning, darlin’.”

Mac’s eyes flutter closed again as he murmurs, “Mmm. We can save the rest for next time.” Deacon’s breath catches in his throat as he tries very hard not to read into a throwaway, post-orgasm comment from the world’s leading expert in ‘Talking Without Thinking’. _Next time. Next time._

Fixer’s looking at him with a smile, looking mildly impressed, and says “You have to show me how to do that sometime, partner,” a teasing lilt to her voice, still idly running her palm up MacCready’s arm, her back braced against the headboard. 

“I can show you all sorts of things, Fix. You just say the word,” Deacon grins hungrily and lets his voice drop, and he doesn’t miss the shiver in her laugh.

Deacon reaches for her as MacCready shifts over to one side of the bed with pleased, sleepy hum, and he’s kissing her again, hard, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. She gasps against his lips at the suddenness and force of the kiss before melting against him. Looping her arms around his neck, Fixer uses the leverage to press up against him, and before she can react he’s diving down between her legs, pushing her thighs apart and parting her labia with his tongue.

“Deacon!” Fixer gasps, hands flying to the back of his head, scrabbling slightly with no hair to grip. “Oh, _oh,_ \- I - I…”

Deacon moans into her cunt at the hot, slick taste of her, tracing a circle around her clit with his tongue and then dragging it flat against her pubic bone, feeling a fresh, slippery gush of fluid against his chin. 

Fixer’s moan is strangled, trapped in her throat. “W-wait, Deacon. Ohhh God. Wait,” she manages, though her hips surge forward against his mouth, chasing the sensation. Deacon looks up, licking his lower lip slightly, and Fixer shudders at the sight. “Fuck, you...God, you look good like that.”

“I’ll look a lot prettier after you come on my face,” Deacon purrs, using that same silky, seductive voice he’s used on countless marks to get them to relent, to give him what he wants. _And right now I want to suck on your clit til you’re a whimpering, pliant mess._ Sees her bite her lip at his words, and he moves back to her slick cunt.

“Wait, I - I want...” she pants, hesitating slightly, and Deacon breathes teasingly against her swollen clit. 

“What? Tell me,” he says hoarsely, sounding a little desperate even to him, but he wants so _badly_ to please her, to give her whatever she wants. 

“I want you to...I want you inside me. That’s how I want to come,” she says all in a rush, her voice cracking slightly at the admission. Deacon doesn’t say anything at first, just closes his eyes and seriously considers that this might just be a particularly vivid, filthy dream. 

Fixer, for once not interpreting his expression correctly, reaches down to cup his face in her hands, looking stricken. “We don’t have to, Deacon. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -- ”

“No, I mean, are you...Are you sure, Fix?” He says quietly, pushing himself up slightly. Even now, rolling around naked in bed with her boyfriend, he’s terrified of pushing too hard, of asking for too much and getting smacked down. She’s still breathing hard, looking at him like she’s afraid any move will be the wrong one. He _knows_ they both want it. _Right?_ But he can’t take that final step, wavering on the edge. 

A loud, muffled snort next to them. “Oh my God you two, just fuck already. Jeez,” MacCready says, rolling his eyes and looking at them both with exasperated affection. That startles a laugh out of both of them, and Deacon reaches over to punch him lightly on the arm. 

“Robert Joseph MacCready, how are you simultaneously the most obnoxious, yet most fuckable person I’ve ever met?” Deacon asks, mouth twisting into a grin despite himself. MacCready chuckles and shifts from his back to his side, watching them with those blue, blue eyes. 

“If you ever figure it out, then me know,” Fixer quips, but the glance she shoots MacCready is pure gratitude, and Deacon feels that stupid, sweet, warm flush in his chest again at the sight of them. 

She turns back to him, with a look that’s just for him, so careful it could break your heart, and she’s kissing him again, pulling him up between her legs to rest his weight against her. He brings one hand up to card it through her hair, the other drifting to her breast, rolling her nipple lightly between thumb and forefinger. 

“Come on, Deacon,” she moans, hands gripping his shoulders. “I’ve wanted this for..” a bare shake of her head. “Just...don’t make me wait.” Deacon feels his cock pulse hard at that, rutting up against her, his erection digging into the soft skin of her stomach. 

Pulling them both down to lay flat on the mattress, he braces himself above her with one arm and feels her fully underneath him, hot and shivering and panting, her face contorted with pleasure. _The most important face,_ he thinks, and suddenly it’s too much, it’s too _much,_ to be inside her and see her face, and before he can second-guess himself he flips her over and pulls her hips up and back as he scrambles to his knees.

Fixer _moans_ and juts her ass back at him, chanting ‘yes yes yes’, and even through his haze of lust Deacon hears Mac’s small, approving noise. Grasping his stiff length in one hand and her hip in the other, Deacon sinks into her wet heat, all his breath leaving him in a rush.

“Fixer, I...I...” he gasps, trying to think past the thick, hot arousal coiling in his gut. 

“I know,” she breathes, trembling under his hands. “I know.” She grinds back against him, hands fisting in the sheets. Deacon pulls back and slides back into her, trying to go slow, trying to savor it, but his body is screaming at him to speed up, to drive into her hard and fast and make her spasm against him, _right_ around his cock. He feels almost dizzy, the slick taste of her still on his tongue as her body tightens around him.

Fixer lets out a ragged whine and bucks against him, and Deacon finally lets go and slams into her with a guttural moan, feeling the muscles of her cunt grab at him, and Deacon thinks the breathy, rhythmic cries she’s making are the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard. 

Desperate to make her come before him, he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her up flush against his chest, groaning at the change of angle, and sees MacCready looking up at them like they’re the best, most delicious thing he’s ever seen. He thrusts up and presses sucking kisses against her neck, her head falling back against his shoulder

“Nggg, _fffuuu_...oh, oh, oh,” Fixer slurs thickly, trying to get some leverage to press down and get his cock deeper inside her.

MacCready reaches over to the juncture of their bodies, hand sliding over Fixer’s cunt and making a vee with his fingers around the base of Deacon’s cock. He looks transfixed, hypnotized by the slide of Deacon’s cock into Fixer’s cunt, and then Fixer lets out a sharp cry and jerks like someone introduced a live wire to her body, and Deacon knows MacCready must be rubbing her clit.

Mac pushes himself up onto his knees, hand still gliding over Fixer’s pussy, and whispers smugly “C’mon -- we’re gonna launch her into space.”

“Fuckkk yeah. Yeah. Nnngg, oh,” Deacon stutters back, beyond words, feeling the pressure at the base of his spine twist tighter and tighter. He just gasps and pulls Fixer harder down on his driving cock, feeling the flutter of her cunt as they worked her closer to her peak. 

Fixer goes tight as a bowstring in his arms, mouth open in a silent scream as she comes, his mouth on her neck and his tongue on her pulse, clenching down around him. He fucks her through the aftershocks, each one rippling around his cock deliciously, and finally as she relaxes slightly he lets her bend back down toward to the mattress and get her arms braced underneath her. Once he’s sure she’s settled, he grabs her roughly at the hips and drives into her with sharp, staccato thrusts, feeling the white-hot pleasure of his orgasm speeding toward him.

Deacon lets out a long, low groan as he comes, bending over Fixer’s back like supplication, like prayer, covering her body with his and feeling her rabbit-heartbeat against his chest. He kisses the nape of her neck tenderly as he catches his breath, feeling her overheated skin against his lips.

Gentling his grip Deacon slips out of her with a soft exhale, and she flops down under him and rolls over onto her back, letting out a whoop of air and a breathy laugh. She chases his mouth with a kiss before he moves back, letting MacCready pull Fixer toward him in a loose grip, smiling that easy, dopey, blissed out smile, arms around Fixer but eyes on Deacon. 

“So, go team, huh?” MacCready says, quirking his eyebrows up.

Deacon laughs, feeling the warm glow surrounding all three of them like a physical pressure as he settles on his side to face the two of them. “Yep, I’d call that mission a success.”

MacCready leans over to the little dresser next to the bed and pulls out a soft cloth, passing it to Fixer with an automatic kiss on her temple. She delicately wipes between her legs before tossing the it aside, snuggling back down between the two of them.

“So, I desperately need some water in a minute here,” MacCready continues with a slight yawn, “but before I just pass out completely, what side do you want, Deeks?”

Deacon blinks. “Huh?”

Laughing, MacCready says, “Did we suck out your brain along with your dick? The bed, man -- which side do you want?”

Deacon hesitates for a long moment, covering by standing up for an unneeded stretch. There’s something that feels too intimate, too... _vulnerable,_ about spend the night with them, about falling asleep with MacCready’s hot breath on his shoulder and the press of Fixer’s sharp little elbow against his side.

Fixer looks up when he doesn’t respond, and Deacon sees concern flash across her face. “Deacon?” she asks quietly. 

“You know, I’m actually a terrible sleeper?” Deacon says quickly, rubbing the back of his head with one hand and grinning disarmingly. “Snoring, kicking, the whole shebang. Think I’ll just head to the other room and spare you the gory details.”

MacCready frowns at that. “Wait, seriously?”

“Mac…” Fixer starts, placing a hand over his.

“Aww, c’mon -- you just _came_ inside Jules. And in my mouth, too, come to think of it. What’s taking a nap in the same bed with us for a few hours?” MacCready wheedles, brow slightly furrowed. 

Deacon’s still smiling, but he feels the prickle on his skin, the adrenaline starting course through his hands, the familiar litany of _run, run, run, hide escape disappear_ thrumming in his blood.

“No,” Fixer says more firmly. “Deacon, it’s fine. You can absolutely stay in the other room.” 

MacCready looks slightly disappointed, but twists his mouth into a resigned smile. “Alright, man. Well hey, c’mere first, then.” 

He reaches over Fixer and pulls Deacon down for another soft, sweet kiss, with none of their earlier desperation, and Deacon feels his chest tighten at how _good_ it feels. Refusing to release Deacon’s mouth, Mac tries to tug him back back down to the bed, and Deacon breaks away with a little laugh. MacCready grins and shrugs, his nonverbal ‘can’t blame me for trying right?’ clear as day.

_He really is annoying,_ Deacon thinks with a burst of fondness so intense it's damn-near alarming.

Fixer sits up. “Come on, partner,” she says gently. “I’ll get you settled. Be right back, love.” She traces her fingers across MacCready’s face, and he takes her hand and kisses the back of it, in a gesture so familiar and affectionate that Deacon relaxes a little, the panicked feeling in his chest easing slightly.

“Goodnight, Bobby,” Deacon says, looking at Mac’s body stretched out on the bed with renewed appreciation, more familiar to him now than he ever would’ve predicted. 

“See you tomorrow,” MacCready says, with just a trace of defiance, but he’s looking at Deacon like he’s something precious, something special, and Deacon takes a brief second to commit this exactly moment to memory, sure he’ll never see it again. 

Fixer grabs his hand and opens the door, leading him out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't sleep and this sucker wanted to be DONE, so here we are! Thank you all for the kind, thoughtful feedback, I am now in love with all of you.

The front room looks completely different now -- quiet, deserted, with the whiskey bottle from earlier abandoned on the floor. It feels like a lifetime ago that Fixer came up the hill with a bag of vegetables, that MacCready was passing him a beer while they sat outside and watched the sunset.

The thunderstorm outside hasn’t let up, sounds even louder in the empty room now that Deacon’s feeling so loose and drained and pleasantly achy. Now that he still has the lingering taste of Fixer’s hot, slick cunt on his lips, can still feel the weight of MacCready’s cock on his tongue. 

Fixer’s still holding his hand, and in a way that’s the strangest part of the whole evening. They’ve never been that touch-y before tonight, though Deacon knows that’s more his issue than hers. She touches her friends all the time, linking arms with Piper, bumping her hip against Hancock, and of course back when her and MacCready were just flirting they could barely keep their hands off each other, but until tonight, it’s never really been like that with them. Quips and jokes and knowing glances, sure, with the occasional, confessional-like admission of guilt and shame, but almost always with a healthy buffer of Personal Space between them. 

Not like this, with her warm, damp hand in his, ragged nails snagging slightly against his skin as she absently strokes the the inside of his wrist with her thumb, leading him to a quiet room that she put aside just for him.

With a squeeze, she releases him and pushes open the door. It’s a simple room; bed, with his pack resting on top, small table, chair in the corner, and…

“Giant painting of kittens in space, huh?” Deacon drawls, eyebrows spiking upward as he reaches down to rummage in his pack. 

“Yeah,” Fixer says with a small laugh, leaning up against the doorway. “Mac’s idea -- he thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

“Or that it’d give me existential nightmares,” Deacon grumbles, trying and failing to keep the smile out of his voice. He pulls on a pair of boxers and stands by the bed, feeling slightly at a loss. _There really isn’t an guide book for how to act after you just got fucked by your best friend and her boyfriend, huh?_

“That too,” she agrees with a grin.

He expects her to shut the door, maybe with one final kiss if he’s lucky, but instead she walks over and flops down on the bed on her back, the mattress groaning slightly underneath her as she kicks the blanket to the bottom.

“C’mere, let me at least get the bed warmed up with you,” she says, patting the spot next to her invitingly, and Deacon can’t help but smile back.

“Just like out in the field, huh? Keeping an eye on me, warming me up,” he says with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle, and she snorts but moves back to give him room. He remembers when they did things like this in the past, shared a bedroll or a blanket, both of them keeping carefully, deliberately apart, but luxuriating in the shared heat and closeness of another person. “You truly are a selfless soul.” 

He switches off the lamp on the table, plunging the room into darkness. He counts the steps back to the bed, then takes off his sunglasses and places them on the floor under the bed, leaving them in easy reach. Climbing into bed with her, he turns to face away as she draws one arm around his chest, pulling him against her and curling around his back. 

“Yep, that’s me. Saint Jules,” she says, in a low, scratchy voice that Deacon recognizes as ‘tired’. 

There’s something about it, the familiarity of it, that makes Deacon’s throat feel tight and his jaw clench, and he takes a slow breath, resting his arm gently against hers. Sleep is tugging at him like a dark, heavy riptide, but he resists for a bit longer, wanting to hold on to this moment. 

“So, should we, you know, talk about…” he hesitates, his voice a little hoarse. Swallowing, he continues. “About...this?”

Feels her steady breathing behind him, her rib cage pushing against his back.

“Tomorrow. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?” Fixer says, and he thinks she must be right where he is now. Afraid of what will happen next, afraid of every possible outcome, of the cold morning light burning it all away. Feeling it slip through her fingers, just like everything else. 

“Sure thing, Fix,” he says, and before she gets up and heads back to her room she presses a soft, extended kiss on the nape of his neck. It tingles long after she’s gone.

********

Deacon wakes to the creak of the bedroom door and early morning light spilling through the window. Dimly he registers the pad of footfalls and faint smell of cigarette smoke, and then a tiny woosh of air is all the warning he gets before a naked MacCready is jumping into bed, landing on top of him with a thump.

“Good moooorning,” MacCready croons in his ear, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

Deacon rolls over, bones creaking slightly but chuckling a little in spite of himself. Automatically he shifts slightly to his back and MacCready settles against his side, wiry arms wrapping around him like a stubborn octopus. 

“That is a very effective wake-up call, I have to admit. Though man, you’re lucky you didn’t land on my spleen with that flying leap,” Deacon grouses, grabbing his sunglasses from the floor and sliding them on. “Or, I guess _I’m_ lucky.”

“You're welcome,” MacCready says cheekily, head tucked under Deacon’s chin. Deacon closes his eyes, feeling the rapid kick of MacCready’s heartbeat. _How can he even focus with his body thrumming like that all the time?_

Deacon told himself last night, alone in his bed with the thunder still rolling overhead, that this was definitely a bad idea, and assuming MacCready or Fixer didn’t end this then he would. There was no way they wouldn’t hurt each other in the end, and the least he can do for them is be the one to break it off, to be the bad guy. He’s going to do it. He _is._

_Just this last little bit, then I’ll do the right thing. Just one more minute of his blue eyes and skinny wrists and pouty little mouth._

“So what's the story, morning glory? You here to ensure I eat a full and balanced breakfast, do my stretches, greet the dawn like a responsible citizen?” Deacon asks, trying not to notice the dark gold of MacCready’s eyelashes against his cheek, the sunlight striping across his shoulders.

“Mmm. Jules had to leave early to help with a hunting party,” MacCready says, snuggling against Deacon like he was a human pillow, tangling his legs with Deacon’s. “She said not to bother you, but….”

“But here you are anyway?” Deacon says, yawning his way through a grin. 

“She’s not the boss of me,” MacCready huffs, and Deacon feels the humid gust of his breath on his neck and collarbone.

“Buddy, she’s the boss of both of us,” Deacon laughs. 

“Well don’t just say it out loud like that,” Mac says with an eye roll, hand drifting down Deacon’s bare stomach, fingertips dipping into his bellybutton, and Deacon fights the urge to suck in a breath. “Besides, she thinks you’re made of glass. Breakable, or something. But I know you can...take it”

MacCready traces his fingers along the waistband of Deacon’s boxers, and Deacon bites back a gasp as his morning erection twitches with decided, obvious interest. MacCready shifts slightly against him, and Deacon feels another pulse of heat when MacCready’s already hard cock slides against his hip.

“Mac…” Deacon says, voice stretching around a groan. Deacon knows they should stop, or at least slow down enough to talk about this, but MacCready’s quick, clever fingers are dragging across his stomach and Deacon’s brain is unhelpfully supplying him with memories of Mac on his knees, or his back with his legs spread, that sarcastic smirk melting into breathy whines.

“You don’t want to?” MacCready’s hand stills. “Is it because Jules isn’t here? That’s okay, if it is…” 

“No, no, it’s not that,” Deacon says tightly, reaching down to place his hand over MacCready’s and give a reassuring squeeze. 

MacCready grins. “What, then? You don’t like me anymore?” Laces his fingers with Deacon’s and pulls their entwined hands down to palm Deacon’s cock, moving slowly, carefully. Deacon’s lower abdomen tightens in excited, hot anticipation, his resolve weakening now that he’s faced with MacCready’s crooked smile, the smaller man’s body practically vibrating against his own, pupils dilated even in the morning light.

“Yeah?” MacCready asks, eyes focused on Deacon’s face, and Deacon knows he’s searching for signs of tension or hesitation.

But Deacon doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop him, doesn’t protest when MacCready shoves his boxers down with his free hand just enough to free his aching cock and strokes it with a firm grip. Only makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat and arches into the caress, feeling the slightly damp slide of MacCready’s cock against his hip.

“Yeah. Oh, oh, yeah,” Deacon pants. _Shit, it’s too much...I..._ Orgasm is rushing toward him quickly, too quickly, it just feels so damn good, and he fumbles and turns slightly to wrap his fingers around MacCready’s cock, wanting him there with him, wanting to make him feel that sweet coil in his stomach, wanting to see that pretty flush on his cheeks.

MacCready’s hips snap forward at the touch of Deacon’s hand, a choked cry trapped in his throat, but his grip doesn’t falter, gets a little rougher even, and before Deacon can stop himself he’s coming in thick, hard spurts, splattering MacCready’s hand and stomach as he stutters through a long moan. 

Heart still hammering in his chest he grabs MacCready’s hand and licks the semen off his fingers, still jerking him off and relishing the whimpering, desperate sounds he was making.

“C’mon, gorgeous,” Deacon murmurs thickly, still a little hazy. “Let me see you. That’s it. That’s it, Bobby, I wanna see you come.”

MacCready arches his back and and grabs Deacon’s bicep, trembling beautifully on the edge for a moment before tumbling over, gasping and coming messily between their bodies.

Collapsing onto his back, MacCready closes his eyes and reaches blindly for Deacon, patting him vaguely as he comes down from his orgasm, breathing heavily. Deacon pulls his boxers off completely and gently wipes them both off, cleaning up the splashes of come.

“Oh jeez, sorry about that,” MacCready says, opening his eyes and wincing a little as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I can lend you something, if that’s the only pair you brought.”

“It’s fine,” Deacon says, tossing the crumpled boxers to the floor and sitting up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His chest feels heavy, face heating up with shame now that he can think past his arousal, can think about how hypocritical it’ll sound when he tells them he can’t... 

_You might literally be the most selfish person on Earth. Definitely top five._

The bed creaks again as MacCready hauls himself up, sitting next to Deacon and bumping his shoulder, but Deacon doesn’t look up, keeping his gaze trained on the floor. 

“You okay? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve pushed,” MacCready says in a small, soft voice that Deacon’s never heard before.

“No, Mac, I’m not...it’s just…” Deacon starts, struggling to get back to a casual, relaxed tone. “I -- I’m not good at...things like this. Being with...people. Especially not people I like. And I don’t know what you and Fixer want, but I mean, just statistically I _will_ end up disappointing you, and--”

“Wait, wait,” MacCready says, grabbing Deacon’s hands in his own, holding him loosely. Deacon can feel the pressure of MacCready’s eyes on him as he sighs. “Look, Deeks. I can tell you what I want, but I’m not really good with words, you know? So it’s probably better to wait for Jules.”

Deacon swallows, trying to push down the secret, greedy thing locked inside him, the part of himself he hates, that wants too much, that wants _everything_ and isn’t choosy about how he gets it. The part of himself that he spent a lifetime burying and denying, crafting persona after persona to lock it away, to crystallize it into something dormant and mostly-dead and forgotten.

But Deacon doesn’t forget, _can’t_ forget, and now it’s clawing at him, howling to _take take take_ what they’re offering and swallow it down, to wrap himself in their love like armor and not care that he’s too fucked up and broken to be any good for anyone. 

“What do you want?” Deacon asks, feeling close to desperate. “Just tell me, please. The wait is killing me, buddy.” 

MacCready’s hands tighten on his. “You, handsome,” he says simply. “You, and this. For as long or as often as you want it. Sex, hanging out with us, staying with us, any and all of the above, together or separately.”

Silence in the small room, as Deacon tries not to look like he’s been punched in the chest, feeling almost dizzy with the possibilities and the whiplash of going from nothing to suddenly having everything on the table, offered up so sweetly it feels almost like a trick, like there’s a catch buried in there somewhere that he hasn’t found yet. 

Letting out a gusty sigh, MacCready pulls his hands away to rub hard at his face. “Ughhh, see, I told you we should’ve waited for Jules! She can say it better than I can.”

“I -- Mac, I don’t...I honestly don’t know what to say. And that doesn’t happen to me very often,” Deacon says, finally looking up at MacCready’s slightly pinched face.

MacCready rolls his eyes and huffs with exasperation. _Love, love, love,_ Deacon thinks a little wildly. “See this is what I’m talking about! God, you and Jules would just talk everything to death if left on your own. You don’t have to _say_ anything. We don’t have to talk about it. Just stay if you want, leave when you’re ready, and come back if you miss us. I’m not asking for anything more than that, and neither is she.”

Another long pause, and Deacon tries to feel for the edges of the trap, for the metal jaws waiting to slam down and rip him to shreds, for the tripwire shining cold and deadly just out of sight. He wants to, he _wants_ to.

“I...I’ll think about it,” he says finally, forcing a smile to let MacCready know that it was okay.

“Works for me!” MacCready says, smiling back and standing up with a stretch. “Well, fortunately for you, I have just the thing to take your mind off whether or not to succumb to my youthful charm and Jules’s fabled beauty -- manual labor!” Grinning, MacCready offers him a hand up, and Deacon takes with a small snort. 

“Seriously? I came all the way out here for this?” Deacon grouses theatrically, moving to pull some clothes out of his pack.

“Hey man, if you’re not gonna roll around in bed with me and my girlfriend, then you’ve gotta repair some fences,” MacCready says with a wink, heading out of the room. 

“You wanna go _again?_ Jesus, how does Fixer keep up with you?” Deacon calls at his retreating back, eyes lingering on his trim, tapered waist. 

“Why do you think I’m going after you?” MacCready throws over his shoulder with a suggestive grin. “I’m insatiable, baby.”

Deacon snorts again, and MacCready’s answering laugh sends a warm flush from his chest down to the tips of his toes.

********

It’s almost noon when Fixer finally appears again, rifle slung over one shoulder and a radstag over the other, and MacCready and Deacon are just finishing up digging post holes for the the little cottage next door. She smiles when she sees them but doesn’t stop, instead heading back to the center of the settlement to drop off the game.

The watery sunlight reflects off the ocean, sparkling and glittering in the distance, and the salty, sandy smell reminds Deacon fleetingly of University Point, of the rickety rails and docks to the east. The memories don’t hurt as much as they used to. They’ve gotten flimsier, worn through with age like rice paper. Not gone, not transparent, but thin enough to let in the light. 

Deacon hears Fixer behind him, footsteps muffled in the sandy dirt, and he doesn’t turn around when he hears her talking softly with MacCready. His heart rate is picking up a little, he can _feel_ Fixer’s attention shift to him like a prickle on the back of his neck. 

“Hey, I’m gonna give you guys some space,” MacCready says, more gently than normal, and he squeezes Deacon’s shoulder as he passes, fingers gripping tightly. “See you back at the house.” 

And then Fixer is standing next to him while he leans against the partially built fence, elbows digging into the soft wood, both of them staring out at the sea. 

“So,” she says, drumming her fingers against the slats. _She always gets like this when she’s nervous._

“So,” he says, stalling for those last few seconds.

A tiny sigh. “Deacon, it’s not supposed to make you feel bad. I only want this if it makes you happy.”

“I know. I know you do, Fix.”

“I just,” she says. “I just really want you to be happy. That’s all. And if that’s with me, and with Mac, then...then that would make me happy, too. But if it’s too much, or if you don’t it, or us, then that’s fine. Really it is.”

He doesn’t answer right away. The gulls are crying overhead, darting down and skimming over the water, and Deacon remembers the first time he saw her, crawling out of the Vault, ashen-faced and bloody and ravaged by grief and shock. He’d seen the old Institute reports about keeping careful track of that Vault and had camped out nearby, waiting to see if anything came of it, but when he saw her he was sure she’d be dead within the week. 

Didn’t save her, didn’t help her, not for months, not until he was sure she’d be an asset. And now she’s here, standing next to him, offering to share everything with him, and it was so much more than a bastard like him deserved he feels the shame of it like a vice across his throat.

“You know what Mac said this morning?” Deacon says finally, breaking the silence and turning slightly towards her. 

“What?” Fixer sounds unsure, wary.

“He said you and I would talk ourselves to death. Would talk ourselves out of every good thing that ever happened to us, if he didn’t step in.”

Fixer raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Mac said that?”

“Well, something like that,” Deacon says with a small grin. “Slightly embellished, maybe.”

“Surprise, surprise,” she says, nudging him slightly with her elbow, but there’s so much _love_ in it all that he bites the inside of his cheek, a sharp, stinging pain. 

“I’m just...I’m not used to getting what I want. You know? Can we...can it be slow? One day at a time?” he says, tongue tripping slightly as he fights to keep it simple, keep it true. He’s turning away from her again, can’t look at expression, turning to look into the sun even though he knows it’s bad for him. 

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Yeah, Deacon. We can just be -- in the moment, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t even know what’s gonna happen next for me. I just don’t want to promise...anything.”

“You don’t have to,” she says, placing her hand gently over his and leaning her head slightly against his shoulder. “This is enough. You’re enough.”

And Deacon brings his arm around her and closes his eyes, feeling the bright sunshine beating down on them both, warming him down to his bones.

******

Fixer holds his hand when they walk back to the house, and when MacCready spots them his smile is so huge and guileless that Deacon nearly laughs out loud.

They spend the rest of the day helping with minor repairs for the properties around the area, splitting into singles or pairs depending on what was needed. But there’s a charge between them now, the air crackling with excitement and sex and loopy happiness. Deacon feels almost high on it all, on how they all keep finding excuses to brush up against each other or sneak quick kisses or just smile like they have the world’s best, biggest secret between the three of them. 

_Like I ever stood a chance against this, against them,_ he thinks, feeling overwhelmed and grateful and more than a little terrified.

Then, completely unexpectedly, he gets a code phrase from a visitor to the settlement and a location for a dead drop, and he’s going to have to leave for Cambridge tomorrow morning, days earlier than planned. 

When he tells Fixer she doesn’t seem phased, just nods and asks him if he needs anything from her, or from the little house before he leaves, and the her calm acceptance soothes him more than he wants to admit. _It can be the same,_ he tells himself. _This doesn’t have to change._

MacCready is more obviously disappointed, but doesn’t protest or ask for details, just pulls himself up on his tip-toes by the collar of Deacon’s shirt to whisper in Deacon’s ear. 

“Well, let’s make the most of the time we’ve got, then,” and Deacon glances around before giving him a kiss, a real kiss and not a quick peck, right on his smirking mouth, and the tiny gasp he gets in response sends a shiver straight to his groin.

That night they don’t even make it to dinner, slamming the door shut as soon as the sun sets, kissing and touching each other hungrily, as if they hadn’t spent the whole previous night doing the same damn thing. Finally Deacon and MacCready strip Fixer down to nothing and put her between them, MacCready working his cock into her hot, wet cunt while she swallows Deacon down completely, moaning and shuddering against them, and when Deacon comes he swears he sees stars, his vision sparking on the edges.

Deacon stays with them til they both fall asleep, but then gently extracts himself, leaving his sunglasses on the table. He’s not tired. He’s so far away from tired he can barely stand it, keyed up and buzzing. He pulls on a pair of jeans and goes to sit on the bench outside, hoping the dark and the fresh air will help calm him down. 

It’s chilly outside, much cooler than when they were out in the sun, and as he feels the breeze whisper across his skin he thinks about how all the changes in his life were like this, in a way. Sudden, bright flashes, and then he was veering completely off-course, into some new direction with no map or compass, just his instinct to guide him.

Right now his instincts are scrambled, he thinks. His gut is confused, drugged with...love, or really good sex with his best friends, or the promise of affection and loyalty and a home. It’s sweet, so sweet he can barely think through it.

But there’s another side of it, one that he’s been trying not to think about too hard, not when he had MacCready’s face in his hands and Fixer’s voice in his ear. Any connection makes you vulnerable, makes you a liability, makes you _real_ in way he hasn’t been in a long time. He feels it like a weight, like an anchor, and he wonders if this’ll be the thing that drags him down to the bottom in the end, sobbing, drowning, struggling for breath as water fills his lungs. 

He hears the muted steps of Fixer in the house, interrupting his spiraling thoughts, and he’s not surprised when appears in the doorway, leaning slightly against the frame. 

“Come back to bed, Deacon,” she says quietly, her voice nearly lost in the rustle of seagrass, the crash of the waves. She doesn’t move to sit with him but stays in the doorway, looking beautiful and otherworldly in the moonlight. _She really doesn’t belong here, does she? Woman Out Of Time._

“Fixer, I…” but he trails off. He what? He doesn’t know. He just _wants, _and is so afraid of wanting.__

“C’mon,” she says, her voice soft and assured. “It’ll be dawn in a few hours anyway. Think of it as a...midnight nap.”

The sea rushes in and out, and the Institute is gone, and he’s still here, might be here for another forty years.

“Okay, yeah” he says finally, and they smile at each other like old times and lets her lead him back to the bed. 

He climbs in and wraps his arms around MacCready’s warm, sleepy body, burying his nose in Mac’s hair and inhaling deeply, and when she slips in behind him he feels their heartbeats echoing in his own ribs, steady and slow and deep, like a prayer from the earth itself.


End file.
